* * *
"All right," Marissa mused aloud, "we have two problems. One, how to make sure Tiny doesn't inherit, and two, how to make sure Sophia does." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "But really, maybe we only have one. Italian inheritance law only mandates forced distribution to legal heirs- if Enzo doesn't have a legal heir, he can bequeath his entire property to whoever he wants and no one can say boo- there's no grounds to contest under those circumstances. That skips right over the whole legitimacy problem with Sophia. After all, with no legal heir, what could be more natural than Enzo leaving his fortune to the adored daughter of his lifelong friends?"
Jack and Enrico exchanged speculative glances and just leaned back in their chairs and let Marissa speculate out loud.
Jack in particular was delighted. Enrico was obviously used to watching his sugarplum think her way through a problem -was counting on it- but for Jack it was a new and endearing experience. He didn't find intelligence in a woman threatening- thought it was sexy as all hell instead.
Marissa sipped her brandy and kept talking, swirling the liquid around the inside of her snifter, watching it flow against the delicate glass.
"Enzo divorced that bitch wife of his for adultery, which was proved in court, and part of the divorce settlement was she gave up any and all rights to any marital inheritance, so that keeps her out," she mused.
Enrico snorted. "Aye, la puttana knew as long as Tiny was Enzo's legal heir, even after Enzo's death she could bleed her idiot son for every cent." He muttered a much rougher epithet in Italian under his breath that made Marissa smother a giggle and Jack outright snicker.
Still smiling, Marissa took another sip of brandy, letting it relax her in hopes of serendipitous inspiration. "If I'm remembering my Italian inheritance law right, legal heirs can be disinherited, but the circumstances are fairly dire- murder or attempted murder, false criminal accusation, counterfeiting the will, or using threats or violence to force the testator to alter their will." Serendipity struck, most unusually right on cue, and Marissa sat up straight and looked at Jack. 'Wait a minute, you said the head of Statesman thinks Tiny's being used as a front, didn't you?"
Jack tensed internally. His civilian identity as CEO and VP at Statesman Whiskey would cover a lot of awkward questions, but while this conversation was getting uncomfortably close to his work as an agent, Marissa and Enrico were giving him unfettered access to the kind of intel it would take Merlin and Ginger days or even weeks to uncover, and he couldn't afford to lose it right now.
Enrico sent a sharp look of his own Jack's way, and Jack remembered Marissa commenting Enrico used to smuggle Statesman whiskey in his younger days- what else might Enrico know about Statesman? He was going to need to tread carefully here.
"Champ is no fool," Enrico said, and Jack abruptly realized Enrico was wondering about him as much as he was wondering about the canny old ship captain. "He's got those craggy fingers of his in a hundred pies. What does the old camel think Tiny's up to?"
"Camel?" Jack said with a chuckle, playing for a little time to consider his options.
"He spits," Enrico deadpanned, and Jack had to laugh.
"Yeah," Jack said, letting mild disgust slide over his features. "He does, partner." Deciding he didn't have much to lose, Jack dropped what little info he had to see what it might draw out in return. "Champ thinks someone's trying to use the damn fool idiot as a front for an illegal drug operation, and Statesman ships a good third of our overseas product through diFalco Shipping."
"Why is Champ worried about Statesman getting involved?" Marissa asked, rather curious now that Jack brought it up.
"He's worried about someone using our shipments to smuggle drugs," Jack said, looking disgusted, "and that's the last damn thing Statesman needs. Because of the bottle shape and how the whiskey bottles are packed in crates, there's a lot more excess space per crate than usual in any cargo Statesman ships, and the glass bottles are fragile, so the crates get handled with care. Our shipments are perfect carriers for drug smuggling."
Marissa nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. "That might be our in... if Tiny's planning on involving diFalco Shipping in the drug trade, he's implicating his father and his father's business in an international criminal enterprise. With the right judge, we might be able to slide that in under the 'false criminal accusation' loophole and get the bastard disinherited as well as arrested and incarcerated."
Enrico huffed a short laugh that didn't hide his worry and fear for his old friend. "Cara mia, Papa Enzo needs a miracle right now." He set his glass down and leaning forward, he reached out and took Marissa's hands. "He needs a Challenger. For the sake of the bond between your families, tell your old pirate uncle you will help him."
To Jack's surprise -and disquiet- Marissa's eyes filled with sudden tears and she surged forward out of her chair, dropped to her knees in front of Enrico, put her arms around his neck and held on tightly. "Of course I will, Enrico. I'll find a way. I promise."
Enrico's lips pressed together tightly as he fought back his emotions, and he hugged Marissa hard. "Carissima, sei davvero uno sfidante."
Marissa's tears spilled over onto the shoulder of Enrico's pristine white uniform. "Sempre e per sempre," she whispered. "I won't fail you, Enrico. Or Papa Enzo."
Enrico cradled her close and kissed the top of her head. "You wouldn't know how, child." He hugged Marissa again and then eased her back onto her heels and taking out a clean handkerchief, wiped her tears away like she was the child he affectionately called her. "I used to do this when you skinned your knees climbing in the olive groves when you were five," Enrico said fondly. "Your parents would be so proud of the woman you've become, cara mia."
Marissa smiled and sniffled endearingly. "Where's Papa Enzo, Enrico? I want to talk to him right away. In person."
"He's at the villa on Corfu," Enrico said. "I would take you to him myself, carissima, but we cannot afford the time. Even this beauty would take more than two weeks to reach the island."
"I'll fly out in the morning, Enrico." Marissa kissed his cheek. "I can be at the villa by this time tomorrow. Thank you for telling me."
"We'll fly out tomorrow," Jack corrected her sternly. "Because if you think I'm letting you do this alone, sugarplum, think again."
Enrico grinned a pirate's grin at Jack. "You are worthy of her."
Jack winked at him. "Ain't bad at the corporate espionage game, either. You think there's a snake in this grass, partner, I'll put a bullet through its damn brain."
Marissa shifted back into her chair and propped her chin on her interlaced fingers, still thinking. "Enrico, why's Tiny throwing this party, exactly?"
"The idiot wishes to impress his new friends," Enrico said, his mouth twisting in disgust. "If you seek for those who wish to use the fool for their own purposes, you can do no better than to start your search here and now."
If there was a better entry for the rest of his mission tonight, Jack hadn't heard it, and he held out his glass with the remainder of the Gautier Cognac.
"Confusion to our enemies," Jack said with a vicious grin, and Enrico and Marissa grinned back, clinked their glasses against his and drank.
* * *
Jack spent the rest of the party with Marissa on his arm, circulating and making a point of introducing himself to everyone there, making sure Ginger, Merlin and Lancelot got a full facial scan of everyone present.
Back in Statesman HQ, the trio ran every face and came up with a depressingly high number of possibilities- fully half the guests were involved in criminal organizations of one kind or another, but none seemed to connect to the reforming drug ring.
"There has to be a connection to someone there," Ginger said, frustrated. "There has to be."
Merlin blew out an equally frustrated breath. "Bloody hell... all right, let's try this another way. Who out of these guests has access to the kind of money and technology to operate that kind of worldwide enterprise? Drug production requires labs, specific chemicals in bulk, production facilities, a distribution network, which is obviously why they want Poppy's old drug ring, she had a worldwide network. So who among these rat bastards have all that?"
Roxy's fingers flew over her keyboard. "That criteria gives us three solid suspects," she reported, as three faces and accompanying text blocks popped up on the main screen. "Petros Ioannidis, Sergei Volkov, and Guilia Compano. All three have the money, facilities and political pull to finance and operate a drug ring that size."
"Let's take them in order," Ginger said, frowning at the display. "Ioannidis would certainly love to take over Poppy's network. He's been the major methamphetamine drug trafficker in the Adriatic for years now, but he lacked the muscle to move into a larger territory. If he went up against Poppy he'd have lost- he just didn't have the manpower or the reach to win a war like that."
"But power hates a vacuum," Merlin said, his mouth twisting in disgust as he pulled up the file on Ioannidis. The file photo was taken at a wedding reception in the French Riviera, and even in a well-tailored and obviously very expensive tuxedo, he still looked like a small-time hood playing dress-up. The brunette gold-digger on his arm had eyes so glassy and dilated it was obvious she'd been sampling his product heavily during the event. "And with Poppy gone, if he could pick up her network he's in a position to move a lot of meth very quickly, since he already has production facilities."
"And if he could make contact with Poppy's former raw opium suppliers, he could also move into the heroin market worldwide," Roxy added. "It wouldn't be that hard to retool a couple of his meth facilities into heroin production with a sufficient raw supply."
"Do we know where his production facilities are?" Roxy asked, scanning several associated files on Ioannidis' business dealings.
"Shipboard," Merlin said, frowning again. "He owns a fleet of those massive squid harvesting ships that are stripping the South American squid stocks into extinction. Our best guess is at least five of his ships and possibly as many as ten are hiding meth production facilities onboard. Plus his ships all look virtually identical, and we suspect he's been secretly switching the registries on them to confuse the maritime authorities. The fleets also move in constantly shifting groups, which makes it hard to keep track of the individual ships."
"And since he's operating exclusively in international waters, it makes raiding the fleet problematical from a political standpoint," Roxy said gloomily. "Even the DEA doesn't like stepping on that many toes at once, especially since Ioannidis owns a good dozen or so high-level Greek and Turkish politicians."
"Greeks and Turks? That's unusual," Ginger commented.
Roxy nodded confirmation, her fingers still flying over the keys. "Despite the Greek last name, he's a Corsican, and he hates both ethnicities pretty equally. He's sold out a couple less-than-cooperative politicians to Interpol over the years as examples to the others not to cross him."
"Doesn't that make it hard to recruit new dirty politicians?" Ginger asked, puzzled.
"Not really," Merlin told her, studying a list of the Corsican's ship manifests on his screen. "Dirty politicians are a dime a dozen these days, and when you're that greedy, the urge is to get in, make a lot of cash, and then bail."
"Except with Ioannidis, if you bail, you die." Roxy snorted. "You'd think they'd at least bother to look at the dirt-bag's record with politicos first."
Merlin chuckled grimly. "If these dimwits could think, they'd know better than to get involved with him at all. But like I said, dirty politicos are a dime a dozen. You can't throw a rock in Eastern Europe these days without hitting a scumbag who'd sell his entire family for organ donors for a chance to get their hands on the big money."
Roxy gagged, disgusted. "All right, get the research team on him, and see what we can turn up about his activities in the last six months."
"On it," Ginger said, hitting send on a priority search request. "Who's next?"
"Sergei Volkov," Merlin said, one of the other images on the screen jumping to center focus. Considerably older than Ioannidis, he was squat, broad, and unsmiling, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and an ugly scar across his lower face that twisted the right side of his mouth into a permanently downward-pointing frown. "Former KGB, almost retirement age and was rumored to be thinking about getting out, but the chance to get his hands on Poppy's old network could tip him into staying in the game for another decade, at least."
"He's got the connections and the muscle to move quickly, too," Roxy said, reviewing the information scrolling down her screen. "And here's something interesting- he made an extended trip to Rome four weeks ago, just about the time we started getting the initial reports about someone trying to restart Poppy's network."
"The timing does seem kind of coincidental," Ginger pointed out. "What can we get his finances? Getting into this kind of business takes ready cash, and a lot of it."
"Well, Volkov's got more than enough money squirreled away in banks in Dubai and Singapore to fund this kind of major expansion, but there hasn't been much activity on them," Merlin reported, checking the balances and transactions on Volkov's 'secure' accounts. "Certainly not enough to finance a worldwide takeover."
"He doesn't seem like a high probability, but we can't afford to take chances," Ginger sighed, ending off another request for a high-priority deep-dive on Volkov's finances and activities for the last six months. "The research team's gonna be dark on us for a while."
"Eh, who can't use the overtime these days, even us?" Roxy quipped, making both Ginger and Merlin laugh. Roxy's aristocratic background always made comments like that seem even more anachronistic -and funny- because until she became an agent, Roxy hadn't spared a single thought for money in her life.
"Hey, before we start on Compano, let's take a minute for Whiskey," Ginger interposed. "From the sound of it, he wants to go to Corfu with Marissa, and investigate there. Questions, comments, opinions?"
Merlin snorted, his disapproval plain. "What's she thinking, taking up with that guy? Whiskey couldn't stop chasing tail if his life depended on it. What makes him think Rissa's gonna put up with his crap for a second? The minute he cheats, she'll kick him to the curb." He grimaced. "Not that Whiskey won't deserve it, but I don't want to see Rissa hurt like that. Dammit, Ginger, she's a friend."
Ginger let out a long, slow breath. She respected Merlin's professional acumen, but this was a deeply personal matter, and while both Roxy and Merlin knew the bare facts of Whiskey's past, there was a great deal more they didn't know that was much more relevant.
"Actually, when Whiskey was married, as far as Statesman knows, he was completely faithful to his wife. And we keep track of things like that," Ginger added. "It's too easy for a cheating spouse to be blackmailed. Anyone with problems like that would never end up as highly placed in the organization as Whiskey."
"All right," Merlin answered, willing to accept that for the moment- after all Ginger knew Whiskey far better than he did. "But Whiskey's wife's been dead for twenty years. That's a long time. Plenty long enough for his... better habits to fade."
"We can't interfere right now no matter what we think," Roxy said flatly. "Strictly from a mission standpoint. Someone is using diFalco Shipping as a cover to restart Poppy's drug organization, and Rissa's connection to Enzo diFalco means she can get intel in minutes that would take Kingsman and Statesman weeks or even months to find. We have very little time to head this off, and Rissa's our best bet at finding out what's really going on. Plus, her new relationship with Whiskey means no one's going to bat an eye at him going everywhere with her right now- it's the perfect cover."
Ginger sighed, accepting the truth of that. "Fair enough. And let's face it, we all know we can trust Rissa no matter what. She's a Challenger, for god's sake. She's the head of Challenger. She already knows more about Statesman and Kingsman than just about anyone alive. The Challenger Company's been working with both agencies for over a hundred years, and I know she has access to all of her family's records. In all probability, she knows things about Kingsman and Statesman we don't even know. We compartmentalize our sensitive information. Challenger doesn't. Rissa, Jean-Pierre and Rafael know every damn thing about both agencies they want to, and they can retrieve any piece of information they have instantly. The Challenger Company was started by two scientists, and Professor Summerlee was one of the finest researchers and cataloguers of his time. Their records are amazing, and have been kept up to date and comprehensively cross-indexed ever since, using Summerlee's own proprietary catalogue structure. If we're being honest, their intel system is better than both of ours."
Merlin frowned. He knew Rissa fairly well after years of dealing with Challenger as Kingsman's main tech supplier, but she and Ginger were friends, close ones, and there was no doubt she had a far better insight into Rissa's thinking -and the Challenger Company's operations- than he did.
"We know Marissa and Jean-Pierre are here in New York," Merlin asked thoughtfully, "but where's Rafael?"
"Challenger's research facility in Brazil," Roxy said, her fingers flying over her keyboard. "At least according to his passport. But Challenger owns dozens of planes including a few radar-invisible ones. Rafael could sneak out of Brazil any time he wanted and we wouldn't have any way of knowing it."
"That's not a problem," Ginger said, pulling out her personal cell phone. "Give me a minute."
Roxy and Merlin both snickered, each knowing what the other was thinking. Trust an American to cut right to the chase!
* * *
Thousands of miles away in the heart of the Amazon jungle, Rafael de le Vega, chief research scientist of the Challenger Company, looked up from his electron microscope in surprise as his cell phone jingled cheerfully with the sprightly tune that meant Ginger Ale was calling.
Stripping off the this plastic gloves protecting his hands, Rafael tapped the screen and the speaker button, and answered.
"Hey, beautiful! This is a nice surprise. How's my favorite Statesman? You been to our new club yet?"
Ginger smiled and blushed faintly, earning a raised eyebrow from Roxy sitting beside her. "I'm fine, Rafe. And I'm waiting for you to take me. I've got a friend I want to bring along too."
"Ooh, just my luck," Rafael quipped. "Male or female?"
"Female," Ginger told him. "The new agent Lancelot."
Rafael laughed and resting his hip on the lab table, settled in for a nice chat. "It's a date, gorgeous. It's been too long since I saw you, and tell the esteemed Agent Lancelot I look forward to meeting her. Say, how's my sis? You seen Ris lately? Or JP?"
Back in London, Merlin bridled. He hadn't been aware Ginger Ale was that well acquainted with Rafael, and the handsome scientist was easily witty, charming and suave enough to sweep any woman off her feet, should he care to do so.
Glad for the diversion, Ginger grinned. "Rissa's head over heels about her new hunk, but Jean-Pierre and I keeping an eye on things, so you don't have to worry."
Rafael whistled and looked around for a water bottle, spotting one on a lab table beside a spectrometer and snagging it for a drink. "My, my! Who's dashing enough to catch my better third's eye?"
Ginger had to laugh. "Champ's finally lost. Agent Whiskey and Rissa met at the club last week, and it's a toss-up which one's more starry-eyed about the whole thing. I saw them together at Statesman's New York headquarters, and it was positively sugary. You could all but hear the romantic violins playing."
Rafael dropped into a chair with the water bottle in his hand and absolutely roared with laughter, tremendously amused. "Damn! Champ's been trying to keep those two apart for what, a decade and a half now? He's gonna be so pissed. I wish I was there to see it."
Ginger shook her head. "Not me! And I'm sure as hell not going to be the one who tells Champ. I'd rather defuse a live nuke."
"Aw, you remember our first date," Rafael teased, stretching out his lanky legs and crossing them comfortably at the ankles as he relaxed deeper into his chair. "I'm flattered, darling."
Roxy and Merlin exchanged amazed stares. Neither of them had known that about Ginger Ale!
But Rafe had other things on his mind. "So what's up, sugar pop? I know that tone in your voice. You're worried about something. How can your favorite genius scientist put that pretty smile back on your face?"
Merlin frowned again and Roxy was hard put not to laugh. Rafael's affection was friendly and genuine, but there was no doubt given the slightest encouragement from Ginger, it could become much more in an heartbeat.
"I'm checking in. We've got a problem, and while Rissa will probably fill you in as soon as she gets a minute, I wanted to make sure where you were."
Rafael straightened up, abruptly serious. "Talk to me, sugar pop. Tell me everything."
And to Merlin and Roxy's shock, Ginger did just that. "Someone's trying to put Poppy's drug ring back together, using diFalco Shipping as a cover. We're trying to get a line on it, but we're not having a lot of success. And did you know Enzo diFalco has bone cancer?"
Worry made Rafe's dark complexion go two shades lighter. "Jesus, no. Old Papa Enzo? I thought that guy was immortal. What's the prognosis?"
"According to Enrico Marcetti, his chances are fifty-fifty."
Rafael's mouth firmed. "I can better those odds, sugar pop, don't you worry. I'll get on it right away."
Ginger's expression softened. Rafael had always been more worried about people than money, fame, power or anything else -even his research- but it still warmed her heart to hear how quickly he shelved anything else to help someone he cared about. For all his last name was de la Vega, Rafe was a Challenger in every way that mattered.
Thanks. But if Enzo rolls snake eyes, he's worried about who inherits diFalco Shipping."
Rafael snorted in disgust. "He should be. If Tiny ends up in control, he'll bankrupt the entire shipping line in a year. The dude's a moron, and his bitch mother's the worst bloodsucking leech you'll ever meet in your life."
"Any ideas about who might be using diFalco to restart Poppy's empire?" Ginger pressed.
Rafe leaned back in his chair and thought hard for a minute, swigging water while he did. "Maybe... sugar pop, run a check on that bitch mother of Tiny's. I'll do the same on our end. Lucrezia's always been the one collecting the kickbacks for all of those failed business of Tiny's the cartels use to launder money, and unlike her son, she's damn smart. And she's never forgiven Enzo for kicking her to the curb without a dime after he found out about her affairs. Bitch is a Borgia, and they'll scheme a lifetime for a chance for revenge."
Merlin, Roxy and Ginger exchanged startled glances. Neither Kingsman or Statesman knew Tiny's mother was a player in his dirty businesses, but for Rafe it was obviously common knowledge, perhaps from his family's connection with Enzo diFalco- which was obviously a lot closer than either agency had any idea.
"Rafe, how did you know that?" Ginger pressed again, as Merlin and Roxy got busy at their workstations.
"Challenger uses diFalco Shipping to move cargo all over the world," Rafe said absently, still thinking. "Have ever since the second world war. Old Papa Enzo got his start running munitions past Nazi submarine blockades for the Free French, and after spending his adolescence playing cat-and-mouse games with Kriegsmarine wolf packs, nothing frightens him anymore. DiFalco's been Challenger's main covert transfer operation ever since- close to fifty years now. What the hell we're going to do when we lose Papa Enzo is a problem, though. There's no one fit to take over diFalco Shipping once he's gone."
Rafe refocused on the here and now with a snap and grinned at Ginger fondly. "Meaning I better get busy keeping him alive. Awright, sugar pop, I'm on the job. I'll send you everything we know about diFalco's operations in a few minutes. Have you got Papa Enzo's medical records, or do I need to hack them?"
Ginger's fingers flew over her keyboard. "Sending now. Rafe, Rissa's headed for Corfu to see Enzo to see what she can dig up about this. Whiskey's with her."
Rafael nodded in approval. "Okay, if sis has a Statesman with her, we can leave JP to run things in New York for now."
"Are you staying in Brazil?"
Rafe considered it and shook his head. "No, I'll fly out to the research center in Bern tonight. I want to be closer to Ris if she needs more backup. Reach me there."
"Will do," Ginger said.
Rafe blew her a fond kiss off his fingertips. "Any chance you and Agent Lancelot can join me in Bern? We can run ops on this mission from there."
Ginger considered it. "Maybe- let me check with Champ. If Jean-Pierre's willing to keep an eye on things here in New York there's no reason Lancelot and I can't come to Europe, but if not, we can send Agent Merlin instead. He's already in London."
Merlin shot Ginger Ale a startled glance at being offered so readily, but he had to admit Challenger's intel and assistance were already proving mission-critical on this op, and there was just no damn time to waste. They had to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.
"Right," Rafe said briskly, looking over at two of his lab monitors as the information Ginger sent started streaming across the screens. "Keep me in the loop, sugar pop, and I'll fly out tonight. You be careful now."
"Don't you start," Ginger said warningly, but her heart warmed at Rafe's concern. "It took me too long to get cleared for field work to stop now."
Rafael winked at her. "With a sister like Ris? I know better than to stand in the way of a determined woman, gorgeous, being trampled underfoot by someone wearing spike heels really hurts."
Ginger laughed. "Darn right. I'll bully Champ into sending us to Europe- see you soon."
"See you soon." Rafe cut the call and turning around, ran his hands through his hair in determination before diving at his workstation.
* * *